


Soothe

by MaidenofIron157



Category: Star Trek: 2009, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Aftercare, Collars, Dom/sub, Fingerfucking, Light Bondage, M/M, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-20
Updated: 2013-11-20
Packaged: 2018-01-02 04:47:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1052696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaidenofIron157/pseuds/MaidenofIron157
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a particularly stressful week, Spock needs to unwind, at least for a little while. Enter his lover, Leonard McCoy, who is all too willing to oblige.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Soothe

**Author's Note:**

> this is the first smut I've written that I actually thought was good enough to be put online, so hopefully I don't embarrass myself here by getting any of the dynamics wrong. feel free to tell me if you thought I did a poor job since this is my first time writing anything close to dom/sub and I'm not sure if I got everything up to standard
> 
> Spock is somewhat ooc, mainly because he is the sub and relies heavily on Leonard (the dom, who is only referred to as "Sir" in this fic) to take control. it is all from his point of view, but not in first person
> 
> otherwise, enjoy

The resounding click of the padded cuffs around his wrists echoed in Spock’s otherwise empty mind, and his eyes fluttered shut behind the blindfold that was secured over them, sounds and sensations swirling together where before there had been concise thought and calculation. They trickled into his thoughts from where Sir’s fingertips trailed up his arms, his touch so light it was nearly ticklish, only stopping when they reached his neck, where his thick leather collar was already settled, snug around the column of his throat. Sir clipped the short chains that were attached to the cuffs to the metal rings on the collar, making Spock shuffle his elbows closer to his body so that his arms wouldn’t strain. His movements were met with a soft press of lips to the crown of his skull, and the flow of affection and love that sprung from the point of contact made Spock sink deeper into the soft sheets and mattress beneath him with a quiet sigh.

He felt Sir shuffle back to straddle his bare thighs, and he could feel the hard length of heated flesh as it brushed over his over-sensitized skin before his fingertips were on him again, dancing over him with feather-light precision. However, when they reached his shoulder blades, they dug in with a deliberate sharpness, his thumbs thrusting up into the knots in the muscle and kneading the flesh under him once Spock let out a trembling breath as the touch gradually got rid of the strain in his body. Bursts of fondness bubbled up from where Sir’s fingertips remained on his skin, settling over Spock like a warm quilt, heavy and comforting.

The massage continued for what felt like hours, Sir alternating between blunt prods to release the tension that had mounted in and around his spine and soft, sure strokes across his lower back and pelvis, the pressure that throbbed in his shoulders and neck becoming progressively less cumbersome as the treatment continued. Spock became more and more pliant under Sir’s trained hands, until soon the only thing he registered was Sir’s touch, the light smattering of thought and emotion that transferred to him through their intimacy, the ache that had been embedded deep in his joints being carefully sought out and mended, his own shallow breaths as they rasped from his lungs, his cheek resting on the pillow beneath his head.

“Good boy,” was purred into his ear, the Southern Terran accent thick in his words, and Spock couldn’t even bring himself to shiver as the warm breath ghosted over his skin, too relaxed as he’d become. Instead, he hummed deep in his throat to show that he was listening, and Sir chuckled from where he was bent over him. “Safeword?”

“Enterprise,” Spock murmured.

"Enterprise, what?"

Spock shifted slightly, feeling Sir’s knees squeeze around his hips to keep him still, and said, voice rumbling in his throat, “Enterprise, Sir.”

A kiss was delivered to the shell of his ear, and Spock could feel the smile on Sir’s lips when he pressed them to the nape of his neck, nuzzling his nose into the soft hairs at the base of his skull. “Very good, baby, you’re such a good boy.” Spock wriggled slightly as the satisfaction of being so casually given praise coursed through his bloodstream.

Sir moved, sliding further down his body and spreading his legs to kneel between the space they provided. He started kneading his calloused fingers into his thighs with long, hard strokes, digging into the still tense muscle and relieving the coiled tendons almost instantaneously. Spock melted into the sheets, breathing deep and low as Sir’s hands gradually travelled from his legs to the crease where his ass met his thighs, lightly pinching the skin and making Spock jerk. His instinctive movements were met with a chuckle, and then Sir bent down to pepper his lower back with kisses before licking a long stripe from his tailbone to the top of his spine and blowing on the wet trail that was left behind. The shock of cool air on his overheated skin made Spock shiver as Sir began massaging his hips and the dimples of his lower back.

"Relax, sweetheart," he drawled, keeping up the pressure as he moved his hands lower and slipped his thumbs between the crease of his ass, pulling the two cheeks apart and exposing his hole. Spock could feel himself flush at the scrutiny, despite the fact that this wasn’t the first, second - even the twentieth time he’s been in a similar position, posed just for Sir to see and touch and taste. The same reaction would always occur; warmth would rush to his cheeks, staining his ears and shoulders light green, and Sir would kiss the heat away until Spock was squirming under the attention.

This time was no different. When the flush reached his neck and started coloring his upper back, Spock could feel the waves of satisfaction and fondness echoing from where Sir’s hands still gripped his rear, and before long his lips were on the warmed flesh, lingering and brushing almost chastely before he opened his mouth and nipped at the skin, six bites in quick succession - three on one shoulder, three on the other. They made Spock jump before Sir’s hands pushed his hips back against the mattress, his cock trapped between the soft sheets and his belly, almost painful with arousal, but he would ignore it. Spock was used to ignoring his own wants and needs in favor of fulfilling Sir’s, and it was unlikely Sir would want him to rut against the mattress until he reached release. Spock didn’t really want to, either, despite the way his cock throbbed against his abdomen, steadily leaking pre-come as the playful nips and licks on his flushed skin continued, tongue leisurely making its way further downward, following the bumps of his vertebrae, past his tailbone to –

A strangled gasp escaped Spock’s mouth as Sir’s lips latched onto his hole and _sucked_. He could feel himself quivering at the pleasure the touch elicited, the way he squirmed desperately in Sir’s grip as his tongue circled the pucker, lapping at it and plunging inside mere millimeters at a time until the area clenched and unclenched rhythmically under the attention, dripping with saliva. Spock felt a single drop of the fluid trickle down to his sac, and he let out a soft whine at the sensation, trembling minutely, flexing his fingers as they clutched at the sheets.

Sir laughed again, light and warm, and his hands moved up from where they’d been holding his cheeks apart to stroke over his sides, soothing the flutters that had sprouted up in his belly. “That feel good, baby-doll?”

Spock couldn’t bring himself to speak, his vocal chords suddenly unwillingly to cooperate, so he nodded rapidly to show his affirmation, his cheek rubbing against the pillow beneath his head. Sir bent down to press a soft kiss to the nape of his neck, contentment rolling off of him from each point of contact they shared, and then his hands removed themselves from his sides to reach up and unclip his chains from his collar, and then the padded cuffs from his wrists. Spock flexed his fingers when the constricting material was removed, making sure his circulation wasn’t affected, and then Sir’s hands were on his, fingertips trailing over his knuckles and making Spock’s breath go thin at the sparks of arousal that flared up from that simple touch. “I’m gonna roll you over, okay, darlin’?” was whispered in his ear, and Spock found himself nodding before he’d realized he had.

Sir’s hands trailed up from his hands to his back, massaging gentle caresses into his skin as he did so, until they were back on his hips and gradually flipping him over. Spock’s erection made itself known as soon as he was settled on his back, nearly bouncing as it was released from where it’d been trapped between the sheets and Spock’s stomach, smearing pre-come on his abdomen. Sir blew on the heated flesh, and Spock gasped, his cock jerking painfully as the cool air made it twinge.

He let out a high pitched keen that broke off into shallow pants and grunts when he was suddenly enveloped in what felt like a furnace, wet and very nearly sending him over the edge. His hips lurched off the mattress, and then the heat was gone as his pelvis was pressed firmly back down. Spock was left gasping for air, sweat staining his brow beneath the blindfold and beginning to well up in the dips of muscle along his body, his hands clenched in the sheets, legs trembling from where they were still spread around Sir, shaking with exertion. Sir’s emotions steadily pervaded the cloud of lust that had taken over his mind, colors swirling together in a rainbow of affection and lust and possessiveness that made Spock squirm.

"You’re doing so well, baby-doll," Sir told him, voice barely a whisper, relying on Spock’s sensitive hearing to pick up his words. A kiss was pressed to his side, right above where his heart was, thumping along rapidly beneath his skin, and he continued with, "Just a little bit more and we’ll be all done, okay?"

Spock found himself whimpering with loss when the words and their meaning finally registered to his pliant mental state, and he lifted his arms up half and inch before lowering them back to the sheets, deciding that touching Sir would not be worth the punishment that would result. This session was already so good, so warm and loving, as they usually were, but every month Sir would count up how many things Spock did wrong – most often when it negatively affected his own health - and measure that into a more intense, deep-rooted session, one that lasted at the very least three hours. Spock didn’t want anything else to be added to his tally, so he bared his collared throat, refraining from arching up into the warmth of the body above him.

Sir chuckled again, and said, “You can touch me, darlin’, I gotcha.”

Spock could not control his instinctual reaction to Sir’s words, and found that he did not want to. His arms were immediately around Sir’s broad shoulders, fingers tracing the contours of muscle and sinew, mapping out the light dusting of freckles that he knew from experience were dotted across the plains of his back, clasping the back of his neck to knead his thumbs into the skin and threading his fingers through Sir’s coarse hair, letting out a soft whine and hoping Sir understood.

He did. He bent down, latching his lips onto Spock’s. The kiss started chaste, gentle bites to Spock’s lips that made them swell with blood, but it quickly devolved, tongues entwining, teeth clacking. It was over far too soon, but Sir let him keep his hands free to roam his upper body, for which Spock portrayed his gratefulness for by nuzzling his nose into the column of Sir’s throat, lapping delicately at the sweat that was beginning to well up there and breathing in his scent. It was a heady mix of Terran soil and sun-kissed peaches, and Spock enjoyed the unique smell more than Sir probably realized.

Sir shifted, moving one of his arms away from him and bending down to latch onto the patches of skin available below and above his collar, lapping at his pulse point and nipping at the flush beginning to crawl up his throat until the area began to swell and darken, marking him, possessing him. Spock knew that the regulation uniform would in no way conceal the bruises, and it just enhanced his arousal, made him start panting with need at the very prospect of having Sir’s mark on him, on view for the whole crew to see, made him scratch at Sir’s back and leave marks on the otherwise unblemished skin. Then Sir was backing away, sitting up, and Spock tightened his grip on his shoulders before releasing him with some difficulty and lowering his arms back to the mattress, hands clasped in the sheets as he shivered with anticipation.

He was not disappointed. He heard the snap of the lid like a firecracker, and his breaths came in pants, short and quick, his body tensing like a spring. One of Sir’s hands were back on him, palm flat against his sternum, rubbing his thumb comfortingly against his ribs. “Relax, sweetheart,” was purred against the skin of his navel, hot and damp. As Spock managed to gradually stop wriggling with eagerness, keeping himself as relaxed as possible, he felt Sir’s wet-slick fingers on his perineum, felt the caresses and tender prods that made Spock jerk and let out a strangled moan as the pleasure spiked, lighting up his nerves like a wildfire. Then Sir’s fingers moved lower, pressing deliberately against the still saliva-soaked pucker of his hole and circling the over-sensitized flesh, gentle but teasing. It just made Spock squirm again, which in turn caused Sir to chuckle.

The treatment continued for however long it took for Spock to get used to the almost ticklish sensation, and then Sir was pressing a single fingertip into him with a single-minded determinedness, breaching the fluttering rim of muscle until he was up to the knuckle and Spock was trembling in his grip, hands clenching rhythmically from where they were caught in the sheets. Sir’s breaths, warm and unrelenting, returned to his cock, and Spock couldn’t hold back a drawn out wail as he was once again enveloped with the overwhelming heat. It suitably distracted him while Sir pushed in two more fingers, slow and unhurried, thrusting shallowly while the lubricant did its job, before brushing over the bundle of nerves that they’d been seeking and pressing on it as if it were a button. Spock let out a high-pitched yelp at the surge of pleasure that rocketed from his prostate, gasping for air, whining breathlessly, writhing from where his hips were being held down as the area was prodded and played with. Sweat dripped from his forehead, soaking the blindfold and gathering at the base of his throat, where Sir quickly removed himself from his cock and lapped up the salty fluid, nibbling at the damp flesh. Spock could hear the eager whimpers and gasps that escaped him, but didn’t register when they did, only that Sir’s touch felt like a brand on his skin and that he was so close, so close…

But he couldn’t come yet. Sir had forbid him from it.

But Sir, his fingers were near torturous in their pursuit, thrusting into him and attacking his prostate with deliberate tenderness, drawing it out and making Spock want it, making him thrash on the mattress when the fingers slowly retreated before letting out a shrill whine when they were pushed back in. It was _heavenly_. It was _horrific_. It was…

Sir’s lips were on his cheeks, kissing the flushed green skin and nuzzling against him, as if he wasn’t currently battering Spock’s prostate like it was his life’s mission. Surely he knew how close Spock was, how he needed to call on all of his control to keep from coming?

“You’re doing so good, baby,” he whispered, and his voice was just as hoarse as Spock’s knew his was going to be tomorrow. Spock could feel his breath against his cheek, could feel his pleased smile. The emotions that leaked through from where they touched was nearly as overwhelming as the pressure being put on his prostate, since most of the sensations he was picking up were coming from there, ranging between contentment to possession to love and devotion to the fiery bursts of lust just beneath the surface. It was slowly undoing him, and he was uncertain if he would be able to hold out much longer. “Tell me what you need.”

Spock stammered, words nearly getting caught in his throat; “To c-come, Sir.”

“Again.” He punctuated this with a particularly hard thrust, spreading his fingers wide and nearly scraping his blunt fingernails against the already humming bundle of nerves, making Spock shout and jerk.

He swallowed thickly against his suddenly dry throat, breath hitching. “I w-want to come, S-Sir, I need to, I n-need…”

“Shh, darlin’,” and his voice had gotten inexplicably lower, straining Spock’s ears against the white noise that was threatening to take over. “I know what you need.” Another hard thrust, one that shook him to the core, and it was becoming difficult to distinguish between what was being said aloud and what Sir was broadcasting to him through their contact. His lips were back on his own, biting and sucking and _devouring_ , before he growled into his mouth, “Come for me.”

Spock let out a sob at the words, felt his eyes burn, but the only thing he could pay attention to was the sensations, the overwhelming pleasure that exploded within him, white bursting behind his eyelids and shooting down his spine.

A lot of his memories blurred together, after that. He vaguely recalled Sir delicately removing his fingers from him, making him wince as the area began throbbing with a dull ache. Sir had responded by untying the blindfold and kissing his eyelids, drying any of the stray tears that had fallen down his cheeks with his thumb. There was a murmur of, “Don’t open your eyes yet, sweetheart,” and Spock had just nodded, lethargic and trusting. Sir had wiped off the mess of semen – both of theirs – from his stomach and chest and where it had even managed to reach his chin before gathering him in his arms and carrying him somewhere. The jostling movements had made him let out a noise of discomfort despite his relaxation and loose limbs and the serenity swirling in his mind, but Sir had only shushed him and carded his hand through his hair, and Spock had left it at that.

Sir had brought him to the bathroom, set him in the tub, and turned on the faucet. The water had been cool on his skin, but had easily warmed, and by the time Sir was lathering shampoo into his hair Spock had fully been lulled into a half-awake doze, sleepy but coherent, by the rhythmic motions of Sir’s hands combing through his hair and then washing the rest of his body with gentle strokes. Articulate thought was starting to return to him, but gradually, a lot slower than it usually would, which meant that by the time the bath was over and Sir and he were tucked back in bed, he’d be able to fall asleep without interruption. It was a blessing; he’d needed this kind of release for a week, after the fiasco on T’hixan V and the captain’s subsequent kidnapping-and-rescue. He’d had the conn for the entire seven days, and had only slept an hour out of those seven days. It made him that much more grateful that Sir knew how to take care of him and make him feel safe when no one else could when the situation was benign enough for him to let go.

The bath was over far too soon, in Spock’s opinion, but he allowed Sir to drain the tub and pull him out to dry him either way. Spock was starting to sway with fatigue, the results of a week without proper sleep starting to sink in, and it took little effort for Spock to succumb to Sir’s will, let him dry him and clothe him in light sleepwear before carrying him back out into the bedroom and laying him on the mattress, away from the wet spot no doubt now soaking the sheets. But Spock didn’t care about that right now; all he cared about was letting Sir rearrange his limbs into a comfortable position, feeling him settle in behind him and pull him to his chest, embraced and held close like a treasured heirloom. It made him feel wanted and secure, and made consciousness that much harder to cling to.

One of Sir’s hands smoothed out the wrinkles of the shirt along his midsection before moving up to trace a single fingertip over the rim of the collar still clasped around his throat. “Want me to take this off?”

Spock shook his head. He knew it would be logical to allow him to remove it, as there was a possibility (though slim) that it could inhibit his breathing during the night as well as leave noticeable patterned marks that couldn’t be covered. Spock found that he did not care. The collar meant security and stability; he found himself unwilling to let it be taken so soon.

Sir nodded, understanding, before pressing a final kiss to the crown of his skull, lingering and nuzzling his nose into the still damp hairs there. Then he whispered, “G’night, Spock.”

Spock shifted, burrowing further into his arms, before murmuring, “Goodnight, Leonard.” He fell into his first restful sleep in days within moments.


End file.
